


Symptomology

by Kass



Series: Stargate Atlantis fanworks [48]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fight or Flight Challenge, Flash Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-26
Updated: 2008-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For many individuals in high-risk situations, war zones being the most common example, the physiological impact of constant low-grade danger activates a fight or flight pattern called General Arousal Syndrome."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symptomology

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "fight or flight" challenge at sga_flashfiction. Many thanks to Lamardeuse and Terri for beta!

> 1\. When the brain perceives a threat or danger, messages are sent to the autonomic nervous system which activates the adrenal glands in the kidneys to secrete adrenaline and noradrenaline, which key up the body for fight or flight.

"Everybody just calm down," John yelled. There was another sickening crunch as the giant lizard..._thing_ swiped at the closed door, which was starting to look way too much like a crumpled tin can for his taste. The three children cowering behind him screamed, again. Man: they were never, ever coming back to DZX-499.

"Calm down?" The woman in blue who was trapped there with them—the kids' mother, he'd been assuming, although they hadn't exactly had the chance for formal introductions—sounded angry and panicked.

"It's going to be okay," John said, and turned to Rodney. "How're we doing on that weapons system plan?"

"Terrible, what the hell kind of question is that, you don't actually for an instant think I'm going to —"

The thing bashed itself against the outside of the door and roared.

"McKay, I think you're a fucking miracle worker," John said, desperately. Thinking _get us out of here, c'mon, you can do it, let's blow this joint --_

By now the woman and children were kneeling in a far corner of the room, reciting words they clearly knew by heart in what was probably some variant of Ancient.

"Wait, that can't—hang on a second," Rodney said, suddenly yanking at the wires in the control panel with furious animation.

"What? Are you getting somewhere?"

"I think if I just—wait, wait, yes, this should—aha!" Through the battered door John heard a sound like a rocket launcher firing, and a bang like a shell exploding, and a godawful squeal of pain.

They all froze there—the woman and her kids on the floor, John and Rodney beside the opened weapons panel—but the relentless pounding on the side of the door had ceased.

"_Sanla kajulata_," the woman breathed, fervently, and one of the kids started to cry.

"Nice work," John said to Rodney, and when Rodney turned to him, grinning and practically vibrating with relief, it was all John could do not to plant one on him.

* * *

  


> _2\. The senses sharpen. Pupils dilate to enable one to see more clearly, even in darkness. Hair stands on end, rendering one more sensitive to the environment._

"I hate this planet." Rodney's voice floated over to him in the dark. The dust from the cave-in had finally settled enough that they could talk without breaking into spasms of coughing.

"I'm with you there," John admitted, letting his head tip back against the rough surface of the rock.

"Just out of curiosity, how long do you think we're going to wind up sitting here?"

John shrugged, from force of habit, though Rodney couldn't possibly see him. "How long are Ronon and Teyla likely to hang out at town hall before somebody wonders why we haven't checked in?"

Rodney snorted. "Please. Like that ramshackle cottage deserves to be called anything other than a hovel."

"There was ale there," John reminded him.

"Shit," Rodney said, and then there was silence.

"Say something," Rodney said.

"What do you want me to say? Things could be worse; they'll come after us eventually."

"Just keep talking so I can find you."

"Echolocation doesn't really work that well, unless you're a bat."

"Ha ha," Rodney said, and John heard his feet scuffing across the floor. Presently Rodney's hand groped his arm. The touch made all his hair stand up on end, made him want to shiver with pleasure, and for an instant John was grateful for the cover of darkness. "There you are."

"Here I am," John confirmed, and felt Rodney settling in to sit right beside him.

"Want half a Power Bar?"

"Not really hungry," John said, "but thanks."

"You will be when the adrenaline wears off," Rodney said, a little primly.

"Thanks for your concern, McKay; when that happens, I'll be sure to let you know."

But he didn't hear the sound of the wrapper tearing. They just sat there, leaning against each other and against the wall of the mine.

The mine that was currently blocking their radios from working, and probably didn't contain measurable quantities of naquada ore anyway. Just their fucking luck.

"I hate this planet," John said, just to hear Rodney laugh.

"You and me both." Rodney's voice was low and a little breathy. It made John want to run his hands over Rodney in the dark in wildly inappropriate ways.

And they weren't even in direct danger anymore.

Damn.

* * *

  


> _3\. Blood vessels to the skin constrict, reducing any potential blood loss and rendering skin pale. Sweat glands open, causing body temperature to drop._

Of course, they didn't have to gate anywhere for bad things to happen. Disaster was perfectly capable of striking on Lantea.

Rodney looked pale and his skin was clammy, which made sense, given how close he'd just come to drowning. He was bleeding a little from the cut at the side of his forehead, and he leaned hard on John's shoulder as John helped him into the dry jumper, the functional jumper, the one Zelenka was even now piloting toward home. "I didn't think you'd make it," he murmured, looking at the floor.

John's hand tightened on Rodney's arm. "Radek, can't we—" John could feel his fine tremors through the shiny foil of the emergency blanket.

"We can't rise any faster, Colonel," Radek said evenly. "He's been under too much pressure for too long; he would get the bends. But we're making good progress, and we're in good shape. We'll reach the city in about thirty minutes."

"Hear that? We're on our way home." Felt good to say those words.

"Home," Rodney repeated, sounding wistful. And then he twitched beneath John's hand, his body language suggesting incipient panic. "How do I know you're not a hallucination?"

"I'll just have to say something you'd never expect a hallucination to say," John said, lightly, trying to smile. "Like..." _Let's get you out of those clothes and warm you up?_ John quashed the thought before it could leave his mouth.

He didn't really mean that. Not even in his head. He was just freaking out because it was weird to see Rodney like this. Rodney panicking was familiar ground, sure, but there was a qualitative difference between Rodney panicking and then pulling an impossible save out of his ass (fixing a jumper, rejiggering some Ancient piece of tech) and Rodney panicking because John almost hadn't made it to the bottom of the fucking ocean in time.

Rodney looked smug and then distraught, all in a flash. "If you kiss me, that means you're not real either," he muttered.

"What?" Damn: was the temptation written all over his face? Of course, now that Rodney had mentioned it, John couldn't help imagining it: kissing the salt water off of his skin, biting at his lower lip until Rodney let him in.

This was not happening. John shook his head slightly, as though to clear it. "You're not making a lot of sense, buddy. Here, lie down, you have a head wound."

Rodney let himself be manhandled into lying on the pile of blankets they'd tossed into the back of the jumper, though his eyes remained big and worried.

"I'm right here," John said, unnecessarily. "You're okay."

That this time he was feeling tenderness, in addition to desire, didn't have to mean anything. They'd almost lost him, was all.

"Never leave a man behind," Rodney rasped, and his cold hand snaked out from under the blanket and clutched John's like a lifeline.

* * *

  


> _4\. The cardiovascular system goes into overdrive. Heart pump rate rockets from one to five gallons per minute; arteries constrict to maximize pressure, while veins open wide._

"You're up early," Ronon said as John fell in beside him. It wasn't quite dawn yet; the horizon was begining to turn pink, but mostly it was still dark overhead, the increasingly-familiar Pegasus constellations still visible in the night sky.

"Not sleeping that well these days."

Ronon made a noncomittal noise. "You 'stressed out'?"

"More than usual? Maybe, I don't know." John wouldn't have admitted it to anyone else.

"During the years I was Running I barely slept at all."

"Now I feel like an idiot," John said.

"Why?"

"You were a Runner! I'm just overworked."

"You've got a team to look after. And a whole city under your command. And a lot of unfamiliar threats."

"I guess."

"Wraith," Ronon said, "hurricanes —"

"That's enough," John said, hastily. Ronon chuckled. They rounded the north pier.

"Yeah," John said, after a while, "I guess I am kinda stressed. I get ramped up, and it's hard to ramp back down."

"I know what that's like."

"Sucks," John said.

"You could get something from Heightmeyer," Ronon offered.

"Give me a break." The suggestion kind of pissed John off; did Ronon really think he needed meds?

"That's what you told me," Ronon reminded him. "When I first got here."

Damn. "Did I?"

"Twice."

There wasn't a lot John could say in response to that.

After breakfast John hovered outside Heightmeyer's door, but he couldn't quite make himself knock. He wound up going back to his room and pulling up the version of Wikipedia that lived on the Atlantis servers. It had sprouted so many arcane articles there was no point in synching it with the Earth version anymore—John found it grimly amusing to imagine what the average Earthbound Wikipedian would make of their entry on "Wraith"—but it was still a pretty good resource.

"Stress" led him to "acute stress response," a.k.a. "fight or flight," a.k.a. "hyperarousal." That made John wince; it sounded like something out of a Viagra commercial.

Anti-anxietals were one answer, but they would dull his reflexes, a notion which made him feel _more_ anxious, not less. (If something happened—Wraith, guys with spears, guys with guns, collapsing rock formations, whatever—and he wasn't able to move fast enough...? John shuddered.) One of the external links on hyperarousal was a paper by Jacques Bodenheimer. John skimmed until he hit:

> For many individuals in high-risk situations, war zones being the most common example, the physiological impact of constant low-grade danger activates a fight or flight pattern called General Arousal Syndrome.

Which sounded even worse than "hyperarousal." That clinched it: no way was he talking with Heightmeyer about this. It would be way too easy to go from "low-grade systemic arousal" to accidentally admitting that "arousal" and "Rodney" went together in John's brain these days. Like rama-lama-lama, shoobie-do-wop-do-wop.

His heart was beating doubletime just thinking about it.

He was so screwed.

* * *

  


> _5\. Usual processes of judgement and discernment may be pre-empted by the impulse toward immediate action._

Another truly shitty day. John wished he could declare himself off-duty and get blind drunk on Satedan rotgut, but he was going to settle for some primal scream therapy in his quarters followed by a good long workout.

At least, that was the plan until Rodney caught up with him. "That was a hell of a stunt," Rodney snapped, right on his heels.

John whirled around. "It worked, didn't it?"

"It was completely unnecessary, and I cannot believe you —"

"It worked. You're all alive." They were standing too close, John knew they were, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"So are you, no thanks to your genius scheme." Wow, Rodney was honestly furious.

John shrugged one shoulder. He was high on adrenaline and on Rodney's proximity, and the combination made him reckless. "That's why I taught you to fly the jumper. So you can get yourselves out of scrapes like that."

"The culling of an entire village _while we're standing there_ is not a 'scrape.'" Rodney's voice was turning deadly calm, which was probably not a good sign. "And if getting us out involves leaving you behind —"

"I can handle the risk."

"What if I can't? You ever think about that?"

The implication—that Rodney was rattled and shaky specifically because John had been in danger—was a suckerpunch.

"Yeah. Try that on and see how you like it," Rodney said, angry, almost vicious.

"Back the fuck off," John said, tightly, though somewhere along the way he'd moved closer, he was right in Rodney's personal space, and Rodney was not backing down.

_I could kiss him_, John thought. Some part of him had dissociated from the scene, was hovering above and watching the two of them argue. He could see how easy it would be to take the plunge. He was milliseconds away from doing it.

"Colonel!" Teyla's voice, echoing down the hallway. John fell back against the wall, and Rodney turned away. "A word?"

He looked back to Rodney; all of the fight had gone out of him. "Right," Rodney said. "See you." John felt painfully bereft as Rodney walked away.

* * *

  


> _6\. Blood vessels to the kidneys and digestive system constrict, shutting down nonessential systems. One's mouth may become dry._

"Walk with me," Teyla said. The invitation managed to sound like an order; despite his frustration, John felt his lips quirking into a smile.

"John," she said presently. "I know how you feel."

"You sure about that?" he muttered, mostly to himself.

"Of course I am certain. It is evident to anyone with eyes—and quite understandable," she added gently.

John turned to gape at her. Could she really be saying what he thought she was saying? He had to swallow hard; this case of cottonmouth was kind of crazy.

"Rodney frequently awakens the same response in me." Her expression was slightly sheepish.

"He does?" That was news to John. And, frankly, a little bit more information than he really wanted.

"Often." There was a ruefulness in Teyla's eyes. "But you must know that acting on these impulses is...ill-advised."

John's heart sank. "I guess you're right." What had he been thinking? Worse, somewhere along the way he'd obviously gotten attached to the idea of eventually acting on the attraction, because the prospect of giving it up sparked a tight ball of hurt in his chest.

"I hesitated at first to make this offer," she said, "but—please consider me to be at your disposal."

"Excuse me?" Okay, this was getting seriously weird.

"Next time you feel the inclination, summon me to the workout room," she said, briskly. "A few rounds on the mat will help."

"I —" John had no idea what to say to that. No idea whatsoever.

"Trust me," Teyla continued, "giving in to the temptation to—how would you phrase it? 'Deck' him?—will not alleviate your frustrations, and I believe the emotional suffering which would result would far outlast any physical satisfaction."

_Deck_ Rodney? The rush of realization left John light-headed: they were't talking about the same thing at all. They weren't even in the same galaxy, conversation-wise. Giddy with relief, he managed to nod and place his hand on her arm. "Thanks, Teyla," he said, as sincerely as he could muster.

"It is no more than a friend would do for another friend," she said. "He does not truly question your authority; he only worries about your safety. As we all do, for one another."

_You don't know the half of it_, he thought, not sure whether he wanted more to laugh or to cry.

* * *

  


> _7\. Endorphins, the body's natural painkillers, are released._

Trouble was, once he'd come that close to actually kissing Rodney—in the hallway, where anyone could see; what the fuck had he been thinking?—he couldn't seem to shake the longing to do it. Even though they weren't in immediate danger anymore. That couldn't be a good sign, could it?

Forty minutes with the punching bag helped a little. With each jab and upper-cut and elbow strike he hammered out his frustration: at the Wraith, the carnivorous bird-things on M41-2B6, the giant lizard back on DZX-499, his attraction to Rodney: everything he didn't want to deal with and couldn't seem to change.

Eventually, when he caught sight of a couple of Marines debating which one of them would come and ask the lieutenant colonel whether he was planning to spend all night at the heavy bag or whether they could have a turn, John picked up his towel and went back to his quarters for a very long, very hot shower. So hot it almost hurt. The heat felt good on his skin.

When he got out, Rodney was sitting on his bed. Trying to look nonchalant, like that was perfectly ordinary. Like he hadn't just hotwired John's doors, or whatever the Ancient equivalent of that was, so they would betray John and let him right in.

"McKay?" John hoped he sounded vaguely dangerous, 'don't fuck with me' as opposed to 'please fuck me right now,' but he couldn't be sure.

"Okay, look." Rodney's mouth was set in a tight line and there was a nervousness to his posture. His arms were folded tight across his chest as though he thought his constituent atoms were in danger of flying apart. "What's not fair, here, is —"

"You letting yourself into my quarters uninvited?"

"Whatever," Rodney said, uncoiling his arms in order to flap a hand. John waited. "I don't know if I can keep doing this," Rodney said, finally, looking away. He looked miserable and John didn't know why and it made John's heart ache.

"Doing what, exactly?" He thought he sounded pretty calm and reasonable, given that it had been another very long day, and he wasn't even dressed, and Rodney was—what the hell was Rodney doing here?

"The thing is, I'm not sure how to improve matters," Rodney said, as though he were making sense. "I don't know if I'm—I thought about resigning from the gate team, obviously, but—"

"Resigning?" His voice might have cracked a little on that. Sue him, he was surprised. Hell, shocked. Rodney had never given any inclination that he wanted to leave the team.

Rodney stood up, paced a few steps away, then turned back. "We keep getting hurt," he said. "This is dangerous business, I knew that when I signed on, but I didn't bargain for getting as invested as I —" He stopped, started again. "What I'm trying to say is —"

Rodney was animated and alive, and John couldn't stand it any more. Without conscious thought, he closed the gap between them, took Rodney's face in his hands, and kissed him.

Rodney's body jerked away from his for an instant, like he was trying to flee. It was amazing; John could feel the moment when Rodney's body overtook his brain and he stopped fighting. Started, instead, kissing John back, hot and eager and pushy and oh, God, right up against him, right where he needed Rodney to be.

* * *

  


> _8\. The respiratory system speeds up. Lungs, throat, and nostrils open in order to draw more oxygenated air. Deep breathing may begin._

Rodney gasped, drawing a deep breath as John did his best to swallow him whole. "Fuck," he groaned, thrusting up.

John had forgotten just how much he enjoyed the feeling of a cock hot and heavy in his mouth. Sucking dick had always brought tears to his eyes; he wasn't getting emotional about doing this to Rodney. Just a physiological response, that's all.

John tried something interesting with his tongue, which apparently had exactly the result he'd intended.

"Fuck, John, I'm going to—I can't—" Rodney's desperation was really, really hot. Not that John had any intention of telling him that.

John pulled back with a wet popping sound, admiring Rodney's cock rising out of his fist, and grinned.

"Oh, God, just you wait." Rodney was breathing hard, like it was requiring all of his willpower not to lose it right that instant.

"But I wanna make you come." John licked a stripe along Rodney's dick. Rodney convulsed and John's own dick twitched in sympathy.

"Please," Rodney managed, breathless. John took him back in and Rodney gasped again, hard, his body jackknifing a little as he surged into John's mouth.

John swallowed around him, blood rushing in his ears. After a suitable pause he pulled back, climbed up the bed, and flopped on top of Rodney, his head resting on Rodney's chest.

"You know," Rodney said softly, a little while later—his hand idly petting John's hair and stroking the back of his neck—"if this is a predictable response to trauma, some kind of fight-or-flight nervous energy thing that's, I don't know, old hat for you military types —"

"It isn't," John said, into Rodney's chest. He squirmed up until he could see Rodney's face, moving until his body was aligned between Rodney's open legs and he could raise himself into a kind of push-up over Rodney's body. The new position reminded him that his own erection was sadly untended. "I mean, that happens, but that's not what this is."

Rodney looked relieved. "Good," he said.

"Yeah," John agreed, and nudged meaningfully against Rodney's hip.

"Ah," Rodney said, and his smile made John's heart do backflips. "You need a hand with something?"

"What do you think?" John lowered himself enough for a kiss, then straightened his arms, enjoying Rodney's look of blatant appreciation.

Rodney reached down and palmed his cock, making an approving sound as John twitched in his hand.

"How long can you stay up there like that?" Rodney asked, giving an experimental squeeze.

John laughed. "Used to be able to hold this position for hours."

"Hours, eh?" Rodney's hand slid down and back, tugging a little. "I'm guessing three minutes, tops."

"I won't come that fast," John promised, not at all certain of that but willing to be wrong if it meant an orgasm as hot and dirty as Rodney's expression was promising.

"Kiss me again," Rodney said, and John's cock rubbed against Rodney's outspread palm as he complied.

* * *

  


> _9\. In sum, a trichotomy of excitatory interdependencies is developed for fight, flight, and coition._

"Nobody panic," John said, evenly. A wave poured over the floating island of houses and boats lashed together around the barge that held the damaged stargate, which was flickering with bursts of electrical energy in a truly alarming manner.

The crowd surged forward, but Ronon fired his weapon into the sky and they fell back. "The colonel said calm down," he pointed out.

"John, do you have —" Teyla began.

"McKay's gonna think of something," John said.

Rodney looked up from the schematics he was studying, a glint of promise in his eyes. "Of course I am. This one's easy—we just have to repair a couple of underwater conduits." He raised his voice. "Any SCUBA divers in the crowd?"

"McKay, they've never heard of SCUBA," John said, annoyed, but just like that, three teenaged boys pushed their way forward.

"We can dive for anything," one of them said, puffing out his chest.

"Yes, yes. Here, you see this?" Rodney thrust the diagram in front of them. "This needs to be reattached, _here_. I'm pretty sure the breakage is somewhere under that quadrant over there."

They took the drawings, conferred for a moment, and then made a beeline for the side of the island, jumping into the waters well clear of the ropes and buoys tangled at the edge of the deck.

"I have a vested interest in getting us home, you know," Rodney said, to no one in particular. "Things to do. Energy to burn. Let's go, boys; chop chop!"

Just another bizarre and ordinary day in the Pegasus galaxy. Which was maybe a sign that he was losing his mind, but John couldn't find it in himself to care. He had things to do. Energy to burn. McKay to fuck into a gasping puddle of want. "Chop chop," John repeated, amused, and turned into the wind so no one would see him smile.


End file.
